


Run Wild and Free with Me

by EthanBissbort (ebissbort)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Nogitsune Effects, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Plot Twists, Revenge, Sharing a Body, human!Scott
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-15 17:10:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebissbort/pseuds/EthanBissbort
Summary: Stiles' life is, as he sees it, boring, lame, mediocre, average, run of the mill. Sure he's heard of things that supposedly happen in Beacon Hills, but his dad is the sheriff, so he hears everything anyway. Nothing exciting ever happens to him. He sits on the bench with his asthmatic best friend, pines after a chick who is far out of his league, and is about to graduate WITH his virginity.AU where: Derek is the only werewolf, and Stiles becomes 'acquainted' with a Nogitsune from Eichen House.His boring life is upended when he and the Nogitsune work together to start making mischief, but when they end up crossing the wrong people, things go downhill. Random acts of violence and mischief please the Nogitsune, but it wants a deeper, more elaborate trap. When it's presented with this opportunity through a very unlikely source, it convinces Stiles to go with it."Ride wild and free with me, let's see what this can be."





	1. Prologue

Plates and forks clinked quietly as the Sheriff and his son ate their Thanksgiving dinner together in near silence.  
For years now, ever since Claudia died, Thanksgiving had been subdued and quiet. Ever since she met Noah, Claudia had gone out of her way to prepare an extravagant meal just for the two of them.  
When they had Stiles, however, Claudia did the impossible by pouring even more of herself into that holiday.  
Stiles had always looked forward to that one holiday, not his birthday, not Christmas, but Thanksgiving.  
He loved his mom so much that he couldn’t bear to try to duplicate her recipes or style, so they ate standard American Thanksgiving food, not some of the more interesting Polish dishes that she would have made.  
“We could have had Scott and Melissa over…” The sheriff said quietly, glancing over at Stiles.  
The statement was met only by the sound of metal scraping on ceramic as Stiles dejectedly pushed his food around the plate.  
John said no more, knowing that nothing he could do or say would make today any less painful than it had been the previous years.  
Stiles cleared his place soon thereafter, silently heading upstairs for bed.  
Noah watched with the heaviest of hearts as his only son’s slumped shoulders and slow steps disappeared around the corner.

Stiles laid down on his bed and let the hot tears pour down his face as they had each year since it happened. He knew everyone would be there for him and do whatever they could to cheer him up, but he still didn’t have his mother.  
His very next thought, something that oddly had not occurred to him before, was that he was going to walk across the stage in less than six months, without his mother there to cheer for him.  
The rawness of this thought skewered straight through him, causing him to physically lurch at the pain. He sobbed uncontrollably into his pillow as his thoughts took a twist for the darkest.  
Flashes of potential futures that could now no longer happen because of her death, from his college graduation to his wedding day, to his first child. The fact that he would never again be able to see the elation on his Mom’s mole-speckled face broke him.  
He couldn’t breathe as the iron bands of panic crushed his torso. He quickly rolled out of bed, trying to get his dad, but landed with a thump on the rug in front of him. The world was swimming and blurring as he half scrambled, half crawled to the door, croaking weakly, “Dad!”  
He reached up for the handle, fingers slipping on it several times before his strength finally gave out.  
Just as his vision went black, the door opened, striking his now-useless arm where it laid on the floor.  
“Stiles!” the sheriff shouted, dropping down and shaking his son, whose lips had started to turn from pink to blueish-white as he was barely making the tiniest of gasps for air.  
Noah shook his son, and Stiles responded with a weak nod, but still couldn’t breathe well, prompting the sheriff to take him to the hospital.

 

Stiles and Scott sat in the waiting room, Scott holding Stiles’ hand gently.  
“Melissa, you know I can’t take him there. You know what that place is like.” Noah whispered angrily in the corner.  
“He has barely come down from this attack, and we can’t prescribe him those kinds of drugs here, you know that.” She responded sympathetically, placing a hand on his arm, “Look, just take him for a single night.” She glanced at her watch, “So that’s eight hours, and then you can walk out at seven in the morning sharp with a prescription and peace of mind.”  
Noah nodded slowly, then looked over to his son, whose eyes were still wide in panic, just staring at the floor, gripping Scott’s hand.  
The pair walked over to Stiles and Scott, who both stood, Scott gently leading Stiles by the hand.  
The sheriff put a hand on his son’s shoulder, “We’re going to go somewhere you can spend the night and get something for the attacks, ok?”  
Stiles nodded at the ground, his breathing shaky and sharp.  
“Breathing.” Scott said softly in Stiles’ ear, and he calmed down, his breath evening out in a moment.  
Noah and Melissa both smiled at Scott before ushering the pair out to the car.

The drive was completely silent, until Stiles realized where they were going as he looked out the window.  
“Dad…” He whispered, looking up at the ominous wrought iron fencing towing over them  
The sheriff sighed, “Just for one night son. You’re strong and I know you can do this.”  
Scott reached forward over the passenger seat and squeezed Stiles’ shoulder, “I believe in you dude.”  
Stiles nodded, more confidently than at the hospital, then reached for the door handle.  
His fingers hesitated for a moment, then he took a steeling breath and opened it.  
The trio walked to the admittance counter, which had already set things up after Melissa placed a call.  
The nurse had Stiles change, and then led them to the wing, where another guard and counter awaited.  
Stiles looked determinedly down at the floor, thanking the gods for the silence. Right now, the last thing he wanted, or needed, was to hear the cries of the insane as he entered this veritable prison for the mind.  
He was given two pills to take, which he grimaced at. Adderall was one thing, but anti-anxiety pills fogged his mind so much, it hardly seemed worth it to him. Tonight, however, things were the worst they had been since his mom died, so he gulped them both down.

Scott and Noah had to stay behind at the final checkpoint, both saying “See you later” instead of “Goodbye.”  
Stiles understood why they chose these words, and was appreciative, although he couldn’t express it right now. Most of his focus and energy was dedicated to breathing properly and fending off the impending tsunami of panic.  
Every step he took away from them became harder and harder, his feet beginning to feel like lead.  
The door slammed behind him, cutting him off from his family, and he stiffened, his step hesitating momentarily.  
He swallowed and continued, stepping up to the door that the orderly was unlocking. When it swung open, he peered inside, letting out a sigh of relief that it was totally vacant.  
He climbed on the bed and began to focus on his breathing, letting the panic subside as the drugs kicked in.  
When the guard shut the door, Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, steeling himself as best as he could against the long night to come.  
Although it felt like the whole night had ticked by, in reality, Stiles passed out from exhaustion in under ten minutes, not waking once until the orderlies came in the morning.  
At six am sharp, too early for Stiles, even with a drug-induced solid night of sleep, the orderlies came in and woke everybody up for meds.  
He hadn’t eaten much the night before, so his stomach was complaining loudly.  
After he reluctantly took the pill he was given, he walked towards the common area where everyone was waiting to go eat.  
His panic was gone, but it was replaced by an eerie disquiet. This place was wrong, on many levels, but on a couple very specific ones that made the hair on his neck prickle.  
The clock seemed to tick so slowly, with only forty-five minutes left until his dad would jailbreak him, that a minute passed at the rate of an hour.  
Stiles kept to the edge of the room, avoiding close encounters and eye contact.  
He was thirsty, and saw a water fountain on a nearby wall. As he headed in that direction, he passed a pillar, and someone was standing there behind it.  
The guy didn’t seem to notice as his back was to Stiles, who quietly stepped towards the fountain.  
Before he could reach it, the man sniffed, and then his head swiveled around like a creepy owl.  
“You, tell me.” He said to Stiles, who looked around in confusion, before the guy continued, “Everyone has it, but no one can lose it. What is it? What is it!?” He began to get so loud that one of the orderlies looked over with a scowl.  
“Uh- uh, I don’t know!?” Stiles hissed, wondering why this had to happen to him, with such little time left in this godawful stay.  
The man repeated himself, but quieter, although just as insistently, “Everyone has it, but no one can lose it. What is it? What is it?”  
“Oh, a shadow.” Stiles answered, quickly turning to drink deeply from the fountain. The man’s eyes bugged at him, but he remained silent.  
As soon as he finished drinking, Stiles walked backwards slowly, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.  
“You yes. Yes you!” The man exclaimed, darting forward and wrapping a hand around Stiles’ arm with a vice-like grip which burned.  
“Jesus Christ!” Stiles exclaimed, shaking his arm wildly as the orderlies rushed over to pull the pair apart.  
The orderly who grabbed Stiles ushered him out of the wing, apologizing, “I’m sorry, I know you were supposed to leave, let’s get you something from the staff room. Donut?”  
Stiles thanked him as they walked towards the front, checking out even though it was half an hour early.

“Dad! Scott! Melissa!” Stiles exclaimed joyfully as they walked into the room.  
“Feel better?” Noah asked, looking at his son analytically before hugging him tightly.  
“Yeah. You know how this time of year is, but I’ll be fine now.” He rattled the pills in his pocket, grimacing.  
Melissa smiled, “I convinced them to go with the longer lasting, less fuzzy-brained med this time.”  
“Oh thank god. You know I hate that.” Stiles said, giving her a hug.  
“Whoa, what’s this?” She asked as he pulled back, looking down at his arm.  
“Oh, um, crazy guy grabbed me.”  
“They should straightjacket that guy, Jesus, Stiles.” She examined the marks, “Noah, the guy left a whole hand print as a bruise.”  
“I’m fine, I’m fine, it doesn’t hurt. I just want to go, ok?” He said softly, pleadingly, looking toward the exit.  
“Ok, ok, let’s go.” The sheriff said, guiding his son by the shoulder and out of the living hell.


	2. Trouble Has a Name

“Stiles! Ready for practice?” Scott called to him from down the hall as they headed to the locker room from opposite ends.  
“Ready to be a practice tool, yup.” Stiles responded glumly.  
“Oh come on dude, it not that bad and you know it. We’ve both gotten better over the years.” Scott tried to cheer him up, clapping him on the shoulder.  
“Well, yeah, we are the first alternates. You’ve grown out of your asthma a bit.” Stiles conceded, opening his locker and stripping quickly.

They were among the last team members out on the field, which earned them a reproachful whistle blast in the face from Finstock.  
“Jeez Coach, we’re here!” Stiles said, covering his ears in pain.  
Another blast on the whistle for his retort made Stiles grit his teeth. He wished that he didn’t have to come out here every time, just to be abused and benched.  
The team split up for drills, and Stiles grabbed his short stick, repeatedly cradling it for practice.

Within thirty minutes, Scott and Stiles were bench-side, watching the other players run a mock game.  
“McCall! You’re up, get out there already!” The deafening whistle blew just as Scott made a noise of surprise and scrambled off the bench.  
Stiles smacked his best friend on the back, cheering him on, but deflated slightly once Scott was out on the field enjoying himself.

Practice finally ended, and Scott was nowhere to be found on the sidelines, still finishing the final minute of their pickup game. Stiles went inside, fuming slightly that he had still gotten zero playtime, even during practice.  
He quickly dressed, not particularly wanting to see Scott at the moment. There was a bang as the locker room door flew open, Scott piling in behind some other upperclassmen who had been in the pickup game.  
Stiles groaned quietly into his locker, grabbing his bag and quickly recomposing his face into something cheerful for Scott.  
“Hey! That was a great practice, yeah?” Scott said, clapping him on the shoulder.  
“Yeah, you made some sweet shots. Could always play second line for UCLA, right?” He replied, albeit halfheartedly.  
“Mmmm. Maybe, if I get in there. High admission standards. But I know I’ve got the SAT scores!” Scott mused as he stripped and headed to the showers.  
“I’ll catch up with you at your place, ok?” Stiles called after him.  
“Sure thing!”

Torn between being happy for his friend and feeling a bit jealous, Stiles drove away more aggressively than usual. His bad mood had become a bit of a recurring theme lately, becoming upset more easily than he usually would be.  
He chalked it up to nerves and Senioritis, given that he only had a few months until graduation.  
He drove to Scott’s house, knowing Scott wouldn’t be far behind on his dirt bike.

 

The pair worked on their homework and senior projects together for a couple of hours, finally giving up to play video games.  
“I’ve got a decent bit done on my AP Bio paper now, can we quit?” Stiles asked, leaning over and prodding Scott on the cheek.  
Scott swatted his hand away, laughing, “Sure man, but I have to be up early.”  
“For what?” Stiles asked, somewhat incredulously.  
Scott was never someone to get up early, especially as a teenager.  
Scott shifted on the bed, then reached over for his phone.  
He looked down at it, saying, “A couple of the guys invited me to morning practice that they do after we finished that pickup game earlier. It sounds fun, and I’ve never played with them before like that.”  
Stiles hummed his interest as he set the Xbox up for them to play, “So, what time tomorrow? Also, assuming I’m not exactly invited.”  
“Nine. Sorry, they invited me because I’m first alternate.”  
“I can’t remember the last time you were up and around at nine in the morning on a Saturday...” Stiles said, glancing over at Scott, who was typing on his phone.  
Stiles dropped a controller into Scott’s lap, surprising him.  
“Hey, I’ll ask if you can come tomorrow, and I’ll text you. Ok? Best buddy.” Scott tried to reassure and comfort his best friend’s forlorn mood.  
Stiles acted as if this reassurance helped fix his mood, nodding at Scott, but he still internally fumed. Scott had been his best friend for years, even all the way through high school, up until now it seemed.  
The pair didn’t mention it again for the rest of the night, but Scott could tell that Stiles was still off put by Scott’s newfound playing position, or at least, a potential one.

 

When Stiles finally left that night, he had to admit that he did feel better after getting some quality bro time with Scott. He flopped onto his bed to sleep, but found his old companion, insomnia, had other plans for him that night.  
After tossing and turning for the better part of an hour, Stiles got up and went to his desk to work on random projects, hoping to distract his mind and get him on track to sleep.

He was flipping through one of his textbooks when he realized how thirsty he was. A spare energy drink was sitting in the corner of his desk, and he glanced up at it. While debating whether or not he should have an energy drink when he already had insomnia, his mind flashed to Scott. A surge of annoyance shot through him, and he made up his mind.  
As he reached his hand out, still thinking about Scott, the energy drink shot towards him, straight into his outstretched hand.  
“Holy-“ He started, looking down in bewilderment at his hand and the energy drink, which he had yet to wrap his fingers around.  
Stiles couldn’t process what had happened, he refused to. He told himself flat out that he was sleep deprived and was therefore hallucinating.  
His hand shakily withdrew from the can, and the can stayed put, just as reality would have it.  
A thought flashed through his head, maybe this was how he would get off the bench and on the field.  
If he could master this, then lacrosse balls would never escape him, he would be a telekinetic interception machine in-game.  
He smirked and raised his hand again, reliving that same feeling of the can shooting into his hand… and nothing happened.  
Fury shot through him when he failed, and the can went rocketing off in the opposite direction, slamming into the wall with a crack.  
His eyes widened as the can rolled on the floor, and he held his hand out again, trying to relive the feeling of annoyance he had felt earlier.  
The can shot straight into his hand, and he closed his fingers around it.


End file.
